I sit down to write.
Never really sure if I weave a story
or if it’s the story that weaves me

It is creative some days
but agonizing in many ways
Some agonies just agonies of the art
but others are peculiar to my heart.

They say good stories come
from heart’s deepest recesses
whence battles have scratched, gnawed, wrung,
left scars & abscesses

It’s a torment to remember the pain
I flinch my heart would bleed again.
But should forgetting become my aim
I dread if I would forget my name.

I go on striving to equalize
my doings, my writings, my being.
And neglect what was once surmised
“On love, on grief, on every human thing,
Time sprinkles Lethe’s* water with his wing.”

I sit down to write.

Lethe*- In Classical Greek, Lethe literally means “forgetfulness” or “concealment” .
River Lethe is the one that souls on their way to heaven / purgatory drink from to forget their lives.
“On love, on grief, on every human thing,
Time sprinkles Lethe’s water with his wing. ” – Walter Savage Landor.